


Glory and Gore

by jessieremix



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fishing, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessieremix/pseuds/jessieremix
Summary: Seven years before Katniss Everdeen ever steps into the arena District 4's, Kia Heere, is Reaped to compete in the 67th Hunger Games.Kai must weigh life against love as she tries to endure her Games for the sake of someone back home.For her, survival is second nature but with 23 other rivals and the Gamemakers determined to make sure that she doesn't escape alive, how will she make the decisions it takes to become a Victor?Especially with a dark capitol secret being at the center of it all





	Glory and Gore

I roll my shoulders back, attempting to shake the stiffness from them. But it's no use, my body naturally coils back into the same exact position as before. Head down. Neck craned. Shoulders back. My hands grip the metal shaft of the spear so tightly my knuckles begin to turn pale, and despite the aching pain radiating from my muscles, I remain as still as a statue.

Gentle clear waves lick up my calves and crash into my knees. Foam tickles my thighs, white bubbles leaving as quickly as they came. A warm breeze that whips my hair to the side suddenly slows, leaving a slight chill. The dulling sun drowns in the water, soft colors of rose gold and cantaloupe overpowering the sky as the last of its light rays are swallowed into the ocean's horizon. I listen to the percussion of the sea, its ripples hit the sand like the flutter of a cymbal. My eyes steady to the horizon, face kissed with the last of the suns orange rays. Normally, my lips would bear the memory of a smile, but my mind lingers on the point of horror, too occupied by thoughts of fear.

Fear for my neighbors. Fear for my classmates. Fear for my friends. Fear for myself.

Breathing deeply, I focus my gaze back to the water, surveying for any type of movement. A sign of life. In the back of my head I can hear years of training and practice daunting on me, my father's steady deep voice reminding me that patience is key when fishing. Especially when spearfishing.

Below the ruffled water surface a fish catches my eye: moderate in size, silver with a green back, yet fast. Without visible effort it cuts through the water, glimmering in the late sun. By instinct I hurl the spear, aiming just below where the image is reflected on the water's surface.

A smile grows on my face as I pluck the fish from the three prongs sticking inside it. I switch it between my hands, mentally weighing it. Perhaps five pounds if I'm lucky.

"May the odds be ever in my favor," I jest to myself, tossing the animal to shore where it lands on top of an already overflowing basket. If my fortune with catches continues, I'll have enough for the quo that the Capitol demands before it goes dark.

I end up making out well. By sundown, I have two baskets of fish, a bag of seaweed, and, best of all, a bucket of shrimp. I had set the trap in the afternoon, leaving a greater part of the day to allow the shrimp to be caught.

A warmness radiates off the sand as it sticks to my feet and ankles. I find myself fixed in place on the shore, my eyes take in District 4's sunset for what I hope isn't the last time. The ocean throws the reflection of the sky to the sand, ending in bubbly white as they crash, and the waves roll over the beach like silk. There's nothing noisy about them, yet they have sound. The music of my childhood with the people I have loved and lost. From sickness or starvation or even from the Games.

Our part of District 4 is usually crowded with fishermen heading out to the docks at this hour for the night work. Fishermen with tough skin that resembles leather and brittle hair from hours spent practically living in the salty ocean water under the constant beating sun. But tonight the docks are closed early, and only a few stray fishers still wander the beach.

On the way to the market, I cut down alleys and through backyards that get me to Ula's house in minutes. Ula, despite her ever climbing years, has a fresh face free from the wrinkles my father wears. She used to be close friends with my mother. The same illness that took her husband also killed my mother. He was one of the lucky ones, surviving months before the illness finally took him, giving him time to spend with his then pregnant wife.

Ula sees me through the window, where she's bent over the kitchen sink. She dries her hands on her apron and disappears to meet me at the door.

Less than a week after she gave birth, she was hunting the streets for work. She couldn't fish, at least not with a newborn strapped to her back, but she managed to get rope from some of the merchants in town and spent hours making nets. I was already signed up for tesserae when Ermin was born, which entitled me to a meager supply of grain and oil in exchange for entering my name extra times in the drawing for me and my father, but I had doubts that Ermin would survive. She worked her fingers to the bones tying those ropes and still went hungry most nights. I took it upon myself to sign up for more, making my name entered in five times when I was only twelve. The look on her face four years ago when I presented the tesserae made it worth it.

Of course, just tesserae isn't enough for any family to attempt to survive on, so I sneak here after my days catches. It's technically illegal. After you're done for the day you're supposed to go straight to have the catches weighed, but most of District 4 does it, and the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye, so long as we meet the quo.

Ula smiles when she sees the two wicker baskets heaved over my shoulders. I place them on the ground, flipping open the tops and allowing her to choose from whichever one she wants. She takes a Croaker by the tail, feeling its weight. "This is going to make a nice soup for Ermin."

"Take one for yourself, too," I encourage. Ula's eyes close for a brief second, and I know she's going to argue with me about taking a second. "The Reaping's tomorrow, Kai. It's too much to ask of you."

I reach in the basket and force another into her hands. "Please, Ula. I'll have enough for the quo. My father will understand."

She hesitantly nods, laying the two fish out on the counter and going to pour me a mug of herb tea. "Fishing season is almost over in this sector, but maybe next year when he's six I can take Ermin out with me sometimes. Teach him to spear."

Ula gives me a ghost of a smile. We both remain quiet thinking about the double implications of spearing, and the many uses it has. Both in regard to fishing and the Games.

"Thank you, Kai. For everything. Spearing will be good for Ermin." She says. As if on cue, the five-year-old waddles into the kitchen, his short black hair most likely messy from a late nap. His hands rub into his eyes as if to massage the sleepiness from them. He looks just like his mother, deep set but not prominent dark eyes and ivory skin, a rarity in District 4, where it's common to have darker skin like me or my father, or at least some sort of tan. Wide cheekbones and a small nose all come from Ula, leaving almost nothing for him to resemble his father, yet when Ermin sees me he smiles and his fathers dimples appear on his cheeks.

He immediately runs over and starts waving his arms to signal me to pick him up. I lift him by his armpits, setting him comfortably on my lap. He's a quiet kid. Something Ula was thankful for when he was a newborn, but now his reserved personality is a bit worrying as he speaks mostly through his hands. Ula's expressed to me before about her want to take him somewhere, an apothecary that might be able to help with Ermin's speaking problems. But people in District 4 don't usually rely on healers anyway.

Even if you have enough money to afford one, actually finding a doctor is a whole other challenge. Diseases sweep easily through the 7 sectors that District 4 is split into, by the time you find a doctor your loved ones are dead and buried, so the occupation isn't very popular. Instead, people put their faith and hope in the chapels, mosques, and temples that line the corners of streets.

I haven't been in one since my mother died- my father isn't the religious type, but the memories of the chapels are still engraved in my brain. Even if I don't go inside, it brings on flashbacks of her funeral when I have to pass in before the marketplace and see the multicolored cobbled stones of the street change as the sun reflects the stained glass windows on the ground outside shifting throughout the day like a kaleidoscope.

But the beauty of the murals are never enough to distract me, so I tend to avoid them, the pain too much to bare.

I gulp my tea even though it's too hot and push back from the table. "I better get going if I want to look presentable for the cameras tomorrow. The Capitol won't appreciate bags from a sleepless night."

Ula hugs me as I transfer Ermin to her arms. "Good luck. And say hello to Finnick for me." The slightest smirk reaches her face at the mention of his name.

I can't stop the redness that floods my cheeks. "Absolutely," I say.


End file.
